A few
months before I had to put my dog to sleep, I was
having new concrete poured just outside my office
window. It was a pretty big slab leading to the
garage and office door where, on occasion, I
hoped to sit and watch storms come out of the
west.

The
workers were nearly finished smoothing the final
section when I heard this vulgar, tirade of
accusations and assumptions about my dog’s
intelligence and mother. Rolling to the window I
found my 11-year-old black lab, Watchy, standing
square in the middle of the pad with this “What
did I do?” look on her face. As the men tried to
coax her off with an impressive repertoire of
gestures and waves (the likes of which are
usually reserved for overly animated little
league base coaches), my eyes followed her trail
back across three of the six sections to the
corner of the house, the same path she had taken
as part of her daily routine for nearly a decade.

Not
realizing the history here, the men clattered and
coaxed until I opened the window (at which point
I was completely, yet humbly, impressed by the
way man and dog stopped everything and
simultaneously turned their heads toward me as if
hoping I had something worthwhile to contribute).
I told Watchy, in a much more loving tone, that
everything was all right and that she hadn’t
done anything wrong, and could she please work
her way over to the grass. Thank you. I also told
the concrete guys not to touch the path; that its
reason for being would likely become evident
someday.

This
statement had two effects on the men. First, it
bewildered the hell out of them. How could anyone
in their right mind settle for a concrete pad
with dog tracks in it? Second, it somehow acted
as a catalyst for something invisible. It caused
all of the pent-up, concrete-pouring testosterone
in their bodies to just go away. Realizing the
amount of work they would not now have to do they
each appeared to feel much better about the whole
situation. A couple of them even went over to
Watchy to apologize for the comments about her
mother.

But
this isn’t really what I want to talk to you
about. I want to share with you instead what I
call “Watchy’s Posthumous Postulate on
Awareness in Human Beings”, a descriptive
reference to the various levels of awareness that
exist within each of us with regard to our
recognition of the world, people, et al, around
us and, I will add, the real reason for Watchy’s
U-shaped stroll through the concrete.

Sitting
on the pad out back, my friend Kate and I were
taking a break from putting this catalog
together. We were watching a spring storm rumble
toward us, still about ten miles off. Suddenly,
Kate asked what the story was with the tracks in
the concrete. I shared the story of old habits,
disgruntled workers and the hidden meaning.

Her
observation caused me to think about the many
others who had sat here since then and how no
one, (including myself until that moment) had
seemed to notice Watchy’s awareness lesson
molded in stone.

Like
Watchy, I believe that some of us in this world,
because of where we are on our journey, will not
see the tracks looking straight at them. Then, as
our desire for awareness and understanding grow,
some will notice one track but not the trail,
followed by those who recognize the trail but not
the story. Near the end of the spectrum, some of
us will see the trail, have some understanding of
the pouring of concrete, and come close to
guessing the disgruntled worker scenario.
Finally, there will be those, like my friend
Kate, who will see the trail and, rather than
assume any conclusion, will seek out someone who
was there to ascertain the closest thing to the
truth.

This
is really what The Nth Degree is all about:
increasing awareness; promoting a larger truth
through shared stories, experiences and talents.
Our search for culture is our search for common
ground; common history, common humanity, common
voice. This catalog is about taking our
disabilities seriously when our rights are
violated and not so seriously the rest of the
time. You will see that this catalog is not just
about disability. It is more about diversity. It
is about overcoming “Psychoschlerosis”, or,
hardening of the attitudes. There is no “Us and
Them” folks, just one big us.

The
Nth Degree is about Ramping Minds; about helping
folks to work up the levels of awareness that
Watchy referred to, until there is recognition
and celebration of not only the differences that
make us unique and important but the
commonalities that make us family.